


don’t let me fall

by QuietlyImplode



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Emesis, Natasha Romanov Needs a Hug, Natasha Romanov-centric, Poisoning, Protective Clint Barton, The Avengers Are Good Bros, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, Tumblr Prompt, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 15:27:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29918952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuietlyImplode/pseuds/QuietlyImplode
Summary: Natasha gets poisoned. The team backs her up like only they know how.At first they thought it was food poisoning, they laughed about it.. Natasha doesn’t get sick, and it was odd, her being on the other end of bad food.. But then it didn’t stop. And now she can’t even keep water down.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov
Comments: 18
Kudos: 60





	don’t let me fall

**Author's Note:**

> See above for warnings. Tumblr one shot - the prompt was “think you can make it to the bathroom?” - which then turned into this.

It’s poison. 

At least, that’s what they think it is. 

She can’t stop throwing up. 

Clint hasn’t left her side, and Tony is frantically running tests. She hasn’t been able to keep anything down the past three days and she’s fucking tired of it. 

At first they thought it was food poisoning, they laughed about it.. Natasha doesn’t get sick, and it was odd, her being on the other end of bad food.. But then it didn’t stop. And now she can’t even keep water down. 

Bruce is worried, though he tries to hide it, she can see the furrow of his brow deepen when he’s looking at the chart they’ve made. They’ve hooked her up to a IV drip; her constant companion that Clint’s affectionately named Lucky, attaching masking tape with a label and scrawling the name with his hand writing as she was sleeping. Her only reprieve. 

Sam and Steve are on the case, retracing her steps whist she is here, trying not to throw up; again. 

Nauseousness rolls over her as she spits bile into the toilet bowl, and stands on shaky feet. 

Surely, that’s everything.

There can’t possibly be anything left in her stomach, but as it revolts again, she sinks back down and acid pushes its way past her mouth. She spits again, a groan and a curse passing with it. 

“How you feeling?” Clint asks from the other room, putting his phone down when he hears movement. 

She groans again. Her stomach hurts. Her throat hurts and as she swishes water in her mouth she can feel the cuts her teeth have made in the inside of her mouth.

“Fine.” She hisses out. More to herself than anyone else. 

She shuffles back into the bedroom and pours herself back into the bed, Clint gets up off his chair and helps her with IV. 

“Anything?” She says tiredly. 

Clint pulls the covers over her arms, noticing the shiver that moves across her body.

“Tony thinks he has something, and Bruce may know more with that second blood test he took?” 

Natasha rolls to face him, forgetting she’s attached at the arm. It pulls and she can’t stop the cringe across her face. 

“Mmk.” She feels the pull of her throat and can’t stop the bile coming up. Clint pulls back, and grabs a towel to push under her but misses completely. He eyes her worriedly.

“Nat, how long has there been blood?” 

Closing her eyes, she shrugs. 

“It’s probably from my mouth.” She reasons. He doesn’t look sure. 

She can feel his worry. 

The acidic smell permeates the room, and she wipes a hand over her face; and across her mouth. She rolls onto her back and mumbles something that Clint can’t decipher. 

Clint calls Bruce and updates him, as Natasha pushes herself into a sitting position. It shits her that this is so fatiguing. She wants to rip the IV out, the only thing it seems to do, is keep bile coming out. She doesn’t feel any better, and nothing is working. 

“Tell him to work faster.” She says with frustration, hoarseness in her voice. She regrets opening her mouth. 

Clint motions to the milkshake that’s on the table, and Natasha feels the revulsion phase across her. She knows she should try. Knows that she should have something in her stomach. But the pain of it coming back up, pushing past her already sore throat; the intense feeling of nauseousness that hasn’t left, and the blinding headache that comes with each retch makes her say no. 

Her headache intensifies and it coincides with Stark opening the door. Correlation or causation she doesn’t know but his exclamation of diagnosis makes her want to throw something at him to shut up. Even if it is good news. 

“Anthrax!” Tony shouts. 

Clint puts Bruce on speakerphone, turning the voice call into a video call so they can see his face. 

“It’s not anthrax, Tony. We tested for that.” Bruce replies.   
Tony shakes his head, and holds up a test tube. 

“No. I know. It’s weaponised gastrointestinal anthrax.” 

Clint looks to the phone, waiting for Bruce’s reply, wondering if he’d dispute Tony’s hypothesis. When nothing comes, he looks across and Bruce is nodding. 

“Yeah that fits, maybe? Natasha; what did you eat? Any meats? Any missions where you don’t know what you ate?” 

Shaking her head, Natasha mumbles she doesn’t know and sinks lower in the bed.

Bruce talks medical jargon with Tony and asks him to run some tests, they throw the words antidote and treatments. Tony leaves as quick as he barged in, and Clint says good bye before hanging up on Bruce. 

“Tell Steve.” Natasha says, closing her eyes. Clint touches her forehead, noticing a red flush on her face. 

“You’re hot,” Clint diagnoses.

She pushes out a smile.  
“So are you.” 

“No, Nat, you’re really hot. How are you feeling?” Clint’s concern bleeds into his voice.

“Hot. Tired. Idon’tknow.” She hasn’t opened her eyes, and Clint doesn’t really know what to do. He pulls the bile covered blanket away from her and towels away from her body. She shivers again. Sweat is now beading on her forehead, and his worry grows. There’s a stash of painkillers on the bedside table and he pops one out.

“Here.” He puts it to her lips, and she opens them obediently. He holds the straw of the milkshake and she shakes her head with a quiet moan of dissent. 

“Nat, you have to, it’ll help.”

There’s a pleading in his voice that makes her do it. She saviors the taste as it overpowers the acidicness in her mouth. She has enough to wash the tablet down, which also assaults all of her senses. 

It’s not bile this time that comes up, it feels like her stomach comes up with it, the brown of the milkshake, blood and the tablet comes out, down her chest and in her lap. She spits, adding to the mess, breathing heavily.

Everything hurts. 

Clint can’t keep the disgust from playing across his face, it’s fleeting but there. She can’t bring herself to feel embarrassed.

He sighs with her, placing a clean wet towel on the back of her neck. 

“Think you can make it to the bathroom?” He questions softly. 

She shakes her head but gets up anyway, swinging her legs over the side of the bed, and gripping it tight. Clint rolls the IV around and helps her stand. Legs shaking, she steps lightly, dizziness making her close her eyes and rely on Clint’s guiding hand.

“Ok?” He questions.

She doesn’t deign an answer, concentrating on the ten steps to the en-suite.

“Mmsorry.” She says, as they reach the bathroom, Clint placing her on the toilet seat. 

He pushes hair from her face, untying her hair tie and gathering her hair up again, away from her face.

“Nothing to be sorry for.” He replies with a smile.   
“Anyway. You’d do it for me. Right?”

She’s focusing too hard on breathing to nod.

Clint undresses her. Stumped at first with the IV, he finds scissors and cuts it off. Clinically and methodically. It’s not the first time he’s cut clothes off her. He’s so grateful for the seat in the shower as he helps her in, placing her in the corner. There’s not enough lead with the IV so he puts that in as well, hoping it’s waterproof. He pulls the shower hose off the wall, heating the water away from her, and then gently running it over her body. The soft beating of the water on her skin is the first time she’s felt comfortable in the past couple of days. 

He keeps it going at her request until her skin prunes and she’s almost asleep. Her towel dries her sitting, helps her to stand and puts a towel underneath her; lowering her again, another towel across her lap, protecting some illusion of privacy. 

He threads her legs into some pajama pants, and then is met with the conundrum of her arm and the IV. 

“Is here.” She motions, pointing to the spot on the line that untwists. He nods and disconnects her from the line, trying to move quickly and buttons up the pajama top. 

He runs his hand near her neck, and notices she’s cooler now, and he breathes a sigh of relief. He reconnects her to the line, and helps her to stand. 

“Ok?” He questions, not used to weakness in her movement.

“Mmhmm.” Natasha shuffles away from the bathroom, holding onto furniture as she goes. 

She makes it back to the chair next to the bed, avoiding the foulness of the bed and towels that lay there.   
Clint makes short work of the bed, throwing the bedclothes out of the room leaving the mattress naked. Clint’s phone rings, and she looks up at him. 

It’s Tony.

Clint answers and puts it’s on speaker. Tony practically yells that he’s found an antidote, and that Bruce is coming to administer it. He’s jubilant like a kid that solved a really hard puzzle and all he wants is a high five. Clint is so pleased, but glancing over at Natasha, he wants this to be done, for her to be better and kicking his ass, not curled in an armchair visibly pushing back nausea. 

Bruce knocks at the door, and enters stepping over the bedsheets, and holding up a vial. 

Clint gestures for him to come in.

“Nat?” Bruce says gently, “Natasha?” 

Natasha looks up and takes a shuddering breath.

“Check the line first?” Clint asks, “it’s been in for almost 60 hours, and we just showered with it.”

Bruce nods and goes through the process of checking her over. He adds the medication into the IV, and squats to Natasha’s level. 

“It’ll help.” He assures, patting her hand. He sits on the bed, Clint sits next to him, and together they call Tony, Steve and Sam. Suddenly, the room is filled with the Avengers on the phone and in person. It strikes Clint that as alone as Natasha feels sometimes and as introverted as she is, she has so many supports and people backing her up. Everyone gets an update at the same time, and it’s met with whoops and relief.   
.

Bruce takes one more vial of blood before he leaves for the night, and leaves Clint and Natasha in the room. 

“Thanks.” Natasha says quietly, breaking the silence of the room.

“I got you.” Clint says with a smile. “Now move over.”

Clint climbs in the oversized chair, mindful of her arm, and encircles her in a hug. She nestles into him and closes her eyes.   
.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are love.


End file.
